Alone In The Night River

Poetry has a unique power to reach into the deepest parts of our being, drawing out emotions we have long contended with and touching places we once thought unreachable. In this way,

acquiring a good volume of poems is like gathering the means for a periodic airing of the soul. It offers a form of profound recognition, helping us feel known and understood in ways very few other mediums can. Evocatively titled ‘Alone In The Night River’, this collection from noted Telugu poet Mukunda Ramarao, masterfully translated into English by M Sridhar and Alladi Uma, fits the purpose perfectly.

The book is by no means a soothing balm of verses designed to distract the reader from the harsh realities of existence. On the contrary, we are warned immediately of what it means to be caught in a crucible of loneliness, conflicting ideologies, and mundane, everyday tragedies. The opening poem (How Can I Deal With You, My Dear, 1991) concludes with an unflinching clarity:

“As you grow up

you have to live only with evil spirits,

you have to walk in darkness too,

you have to get going,

washing away the curses

ignoring the indifference.”

In a later poem, Ramarao ponders:

Isn’t the to and from of life

a union of cautions, fears

suggestions and doubts (Journey by Air, 2014)

‘Alone In The Night River’ is an exceptionally apt title, as every poem in this collection carries a palpable sense of motion. They feel like observations penned by someone in a state of perpetual transit. The river flows, the night is equally ephemeral, and the poems arrive as distilled wisdom from a traveller who has reached the end of a long, eventful journey, yet remains prepared to embark upon new adventures toward unlit and unknown horizons.

“No matter how long one lives

one is an immigrant or a traveller

an outsider

anywhere

anytime”  (Migrant Traveller, 2014)

So, how does one sustain oneself through this ceaseless journey? What provides the necessary strength? The poet, sharing our struggle, thinks aloud, admitting that, like us, he is often left without clear answers.

“Like I within myself

the river within the river

the river within me”  (A Day With The River, 2009)

These poems, gleaned from distinct timelines in Ramarao’s life, traverse themes and emotions as diverse as the totality of the human experience. The inherent beauty of these poems, especially when the source language is unknown to the reader, is largely attributable to the translators’ brilliance. They have achieved the remarkable feat of delivering the poems in a manner that feels distinctly English while retaining the compelling cadence of its unmistakable origin.

Spanning fragmentation and deep loneliness to existentialism, consciousness, and the oneness of things, what shines through in these poems is the authenticity and honesty with which these monumental subjects are tackled. In several instances, true to life, the poet highlights the helplessness and sheer exhaustion of navigating the relentless questions of time, the possibility of answers always hovering somewhere between make-belief and make-do.

“Just as time swallows time

distance swallows distance

so too

hope swallows hope” (Own House, 2007)

In nights that yield neither comfort nor solace—a darkness most readers will recognize—there is a desperate desire for some form of transcendence, a way into a wisdom necessary to simply carry on. In Faith (2008), he writes:

“It would have been good had I   been your doorway

I could at least know your comings and goings.”

This hunger for faith is, however, resolved by the dawning of a new, unifying understanding in The Union (2009),

‘Even if you don’t speak to me

Let me hear you in the silence……

….

Till I become you

Let it continue like this.”

Pervasively evident throughout the entire collection is the deep affection and reverence the poet holds for the elements of nature. They partake in journeys mirroring his own, each set to their own unique, distinct rhythm. Rivers, oceans, mountains, and the earth itself—everything that has stoically withstood the rampages of time—remain or regenerate as potent symbols of grace and resurgent hope. The love for trees and the beautiful flowers that are plucked and discarded, yet eternally bloom again, emerges as another recurring theme.

“Drying in the hot sun

getting wet in the rain

the plants that have withstood all

keep blooming anywhere.” (The Flowers That Bloom Keep Blooming, 2004)

A majority of the poems in this collection orbit the themes of old age and the passage of time:

“Age

like the naive ocean

hiding deep within

so many pearls” (Sound in Silence, 2024)

Another poem concludes with a desperate echo:

“How long? How long? How long?” (Outer Signal, 1998)

In yet another, he bravely questions the whole point of it all:

“Unending game

unimpressive song

is life just that”  (Retirement, 2009)

The struggle of feeling like an anachronism, of perpetually being a little out of sync with time’s march is, I believe, a far more universal ache than we often acknowledge.

“Wherever it is

it is either a little earlier or later” (Inside Outside, 2008)

In Wrenching of Heart (2008), the crushing weight of time as experienced by a couple whose son went missing is the devastating central theme.

Impermanence is the inevitable human experience, and once accepted, a quiet wonderment settles in, sufficient to validate the entire journey. Some poems brilliantly capture this profound sense of awe accrued through the privilege of having lived a long, full life. A few others muse over the bewilderment of aging and the unique darkness that accompanies it. Some poems do both.

“Even though it is pitch dark

while walking confidently

now and then the shimmer

of thousand lights

in the eyes.” (Outer Signal, 1998)

A couple of poems involve pointed laments on the tyranny of phone addiction and the resulting social disconnect, alongside insightful commentaries on web friendships.

“For man the phone now

Like clothes on his body” (A Mouth, An Ear, A Mirror In The Palm, Phone, 2014)

There are also thoughts on the insidious downsides of modern development and

rapid, unchecked expansion.

“Each one is in search of himself forever

they look out spring after spring

for the vanished spring.” (The Human Foot, 1991)

Here, the critical plight of the modern individual is brought centre stage, underscoring the subtle horror of no longer feeling authentically at home in one’s own life. However, against every ordeal, love, in its quiet, enduring form, remains the sole grace, lessening the distance of all journeys—one clear conclusion this entire collection seems to offer.

What is most remarkable about this book is its honesty. As the renowned dancer Elsa Wolliaston observed, ‘one needs to feel the strong point inside, which is also the weak point. It is in the awareness of this alternation that everyone can find that personal rhythm’. Mukunda Ramarao, through these poems, lays bare his remarkable understanding of this vital alternation. His verses are pure reflections of his mind’s free wanderings in relentless pursuit of the truth.

“In the endless journey

In all directions

I will introduce

Me as myself

To everyone

Again and again.” (Self-introspection, 1998)

Like the intricate relationship between the fig wasp and the fig tree, the story of every poet and their reader is a narrative of co-evolution.

As the poet writes with deep intimacy:

“Which air

Is uniting

Or

Is separating

You and me

Even if it’s visible

Even if it’s not visible

If you aren’t there

I too am not there”  (You, I, Life, 2007)

In a beautifully penned foreword to the book, GJV Prasad insightfully observes, “we always live with the possibility of a greater, clearer union, even if we feel estranged, anxious in our solitariness, in our persona as poets and artists, observing the world we are cut away from”. What is implicit, however, is that the moment the artist distills their deepest loneliness into an expressed form, they become connected to everyone who has ever felt it.

Poems that serve as crystallizations of the poet’s innermost truth can, sometimes, save the reader mid-fall. So who knows? Perhaps ‘Alone In The Night River’ just might be that life-saving book for you.

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